Married to Calamity

"You must want to enough. Enough to take all the rejections, enough to pay the price of disappointment and discouragement while you are learning. Like any other artist you must learn your craft—then you can add all the genius you like."
Phyllis A. Whitney

Pages

10 November 2017

Eight
years ago my oldest son was talking to a marine recruiter about his options for
jobs he could do in the service. He’d always been an adrenaline junkie and
gravitated toward the dangerous things. When he wanted to explore EOD, my heart
dropped into my stomach. My first reaction was to steer him away from that
career path. But being an army vet, I knew the value of Explosives Ordnance
Disposal, and I knew many brave men and women lived because of those who served
in ordnance.

So instead of discouraging him from choosing EOD, I
encouraged him to research it, and in doing so, ideas for a series sprung to
life. He decided to go infantry in the end.

At first I thought about writing a contemporary military
romance, but a publisher I had at the time, warned me nobody would want to hear
about bombings and terrorists, with our service members deployed and
terrorist acts increasing all over the
world.

But I didn’t want to write about the bombers and
terrorists. I wanted to write stories about men and women who stopped them. So,
in respect for those dealing with the very real and dangerous situations, I chose to take the series off
Earth and into space and on alien planets.

Science fiction has always been one of my favorite
genres, and the first novel wrote over sixteen years ago, when I decided to pen
my first romance, was a beastly 100k novel which will never see the light of
day. Since then, I’ve written in many of the romance genres, but I always seem
to come back to my first love.

Science fiction and I have had a mad romance. We’ve seen
the ups and downs in the industry, and the neglect of attention this wonderful
genre deserves. Now I’m being told science fiction romance is the next hot
thing. I’m not surprised. I’ve always felt it was a hot thing and it would only
be a matter of time before readers discovered everything it had to offer.

So, on November 10th I will release the first book in my multi-book
Blown Away series. I hope you’ll grab a copy. You’ll get a little military and
a little science fiction. Action, adventure and fantastic worlds that will beg
you to explore more of them. Be sure to check out the second book, Explosive
Affairs, which will be up for preorder as Blown Away goes live.

Each of the novels in this series are stand alone, but
linked by common denominators. No cliff hangers here and a happy ever after is
guaranteed.

Blurb:One man and one woman, both on a
collision course with a mad bomber and the past.

Trios Space Port City is a busy place. MacKay and Boomer must stop a bomber
before he strikes again, this time closer to home. Failure is not an option.
Success means they get to live another day. But more than the danger is heating
up. Their attraction has grown to explosive levels, and it’s become a major
distraction. Not good when they need to keep their heads.

D. L.
Jackson is a writer of urban fantasy, science fiction, military romance and
erotic romance. She loves to incorporate crazy plot twists, comedy and the
unexpected into her worlds. As a U.S. Army veteran, she naturally adores men in
uniform and feels the world could always use more. She does her part by
incorporating as many sexy soldiers in her novels as she can. When she isn't
writing or running the roads, you can often find her online chatting with her
peers and readers. Grab a cup of iced coffee, pull up your virtual chair and
say hi. She loves emails and blog visits from her readers.

07 November 2017

When a world
leader’s daughter meets a clone, a doomed love affair begins.

In the year 2087, a great war erupts on the planet and a struggle to survive
begins. One hundred-fifty years later, the continent of America is divided into
two factions, Aeropia and The United Regions. There is a shortage of food and
an abundance of illness, leaving most to live on the scraps of the wealthy, who
wallow in excess.

This is the world Olivia Braun inherits. Sick from birth, she wakes up from
surgery with a new heart, only to discover she is the youngest president of
Aeropia, an empire that has created and used clones to maintain its position of
supremacy since the war. However, Olivia’s rise to power is no accident. Before
her transplant, she conspired with a clone to free those enslaved, but the
outcome is not what she expected.

Now, enemies hide among the population, and even friends can no longer be
trusted. Olivia must make a choice that will decide the fate of an empire.
Before her tale of corruption, forbidden love and war ends, the mighty will be
brought to their knees.

Bio:Paxton Summers loves to incorporate crazy plot twists, comedy
and the unexpected into her worlds. As a U.S. Army veteran, she naturally
adores men in uniform and feels the world could always use more. She does her
part by incorporating as many sexy soldiers in her novels as she can. When she
isn't writing or running the roads, you can often find her online chatting with
her peers and readers. Grab a cup of iced coffee, pull up your virtual chair
and say hi. She loves emails and blog visits from her readers. http://www.paxtonsummers.com

30 September 2017

***As many Saturdays as possible, you'll see posts from people regarding their own experiences with their mental health. Use #BreaktheStigma on Twitter to share yours***

***Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts*

It took
roughly twenty years and four months after hearing “Mmmbop” for the first time
before I got to see Hanson live for the first time. I had been among the
millions of rabid fans as a teenager, but while my love had softened as an
adult, it had never waned. Circumstances had continually kept me from seeing
them, and this time was no different. Tickets sold out in a stunning four hours
after going on sale. I’d given up hope of ever seeing them, or at least seeing
them in the next several years. Yet fate smiled upon me, and I managed to
obtain a single ticket mere days before the show. A very long drive, a wait in
line just as long as my drive, and a small stampede later, I was four rows away
from the stage.

The
show itself was everything I’d imagined it to be. It was a beautiful mix of
both old and new, from the earliest days to the latest album. I teared up
several times, but one song hit me much harder than anticipated. “With You in
Your Dreams” was a hit from the day it was released with its mix of both
childishly tender, yet shockingly powerful lyrics about death. I hadn’t
listened to it in two years, whether by active or subconscious choice, I cannot
say. By the opening line, tears were rolling down my face.

If I'm gone when you
wake up
Please, don't cry
And if I'm gone when you wake up
It's not goodbye

I was no longer visiting
the carefree days of fourteen. Now I was sixteen, alone in the darkness of some
godforsaken hour. I huddled beside my CD player, sobbing as quietly as I could
into a pillow as I tried to find any shred of courage I might possess. I knew
where my father kept his gun. It was in his bottom desk drawer, unlocked and always
loaded. Everyone was asleep, so I wouldn’t get caught being awake and outside
of my room. I could slip upstairs and back again, quiet as a mouse. All of my
pain would be over in a matter of minutes. I just needed to find the courage to
stand up and walk out of my bedroom.

Through
my tears, Taylor continued singing:

Don't look back at
this time as a time
Of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you in your dreams

Visions
of my brothers danced in my head. They were so young then, too young to
remember the pain of death several years before, but old enough to feel the
pain that comes in the aftermath of death. They had not truly experienced loss
yet. They would mourn me.

But If I'm gone when you wake up
Please, don't cry
And if I'm gone when you wake up
Don't ask why
Don't look back at this time
As a time of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you in your dreams

I wondered if they would understand
why I did it. I wondered if they were old enough to realize how many aspects of
our lives were cruel and inhumane. Did they remember life from before? Would
they understand I wasn’t strong enough to continue? I wanted to be there for
them, but it was too much. I kept the song on repeat, losing myself in the
lyrics. It was a beautiful memento to leave behind for them. Maybe if they
listened to it, they would know I would always be with them. I wasn’t
abandoning them. I would always watch over them from beyond.

Don't cry, I'm with
you
Don't cry, I'm by your side
Don't cry, I'm with you
Don't cry, I'm by your side

My
reverie was interrupted at the concert. My tears had evolved into body-shaking
sobs. All at once, every dark night I had ever had emerged at the forefront of
my memory. I was sixteen, too afraid to get my father’s gun. I was nineteen,
but I didn’t have enough pills to finish the job. I was twenty, too afraid to
take the leap off the mountainside. I was twenty-two, my hands shaking too hard
to put the belt around my neck. I was thirty, deciding which barrier I could
crash into at high speeds. I was thirty-two, staring at the box that held my
husband’s gun, knowing this time, I wouldn’t be too afraid... if only I would
decide to open it.

And though my flesh is
gone
I'll still be with you at all times
And although my body's gone
I'll be there to comfort you at all times

The girl beside me placed a hand on
my shoulder. Her face was gentle and concerned. I couldn’t hear her voice, but
the movements of her lips were unmistakable. “Are you okay?”

I don't want you to
cry and weep
I want you to go on living your life
I'm not sleeping an endless sleep
'Cause in your heart
You have all of our good times
Oh, all of our good times

I had no words of my own. In spite
of the many times I wanted to die, I was alive. I had lived through all the
times I thought I couldn’t survive. I lived through my darkest days. I was
alive. Whether it was through strength or cowardice, it didn’t matter. From
that night in my room until the day I stood alongside this stranger, I had
lived. I survived my worst enemy. I survived my own self-destruct button. I
couldn’t find the words to tell this kind stranger just how much this moment
meant to me. Even if I could, there was no guarantee she would understand, let
alone appreciate this incredible occasion. I was alive!

And if I'm gone when
you wake up
Don't ask why
Don't look back at this time
As a time of heartbreak and distress
Remember me, remember me
'Cause I'll be with you in your dreams

There
will always be dark nights in my life. I hope I will continue to have the
strength to fight my way through them. I hope that during those nights, I will
look back and remember how for one night, being alive was a moment to be
celebrated. I want to remember how for one night, I wept not in despair of
life, but with the indescribable happiness that I lived.

29 September 2017

Ava’s
nemesis, John, made his feelings known by suddenly kissing her while they
happened to be on the same cruise. Not just any kiss, but one that triggered a
mind-blowing heat that made her want to learn more about him.

They’ve
now been home for over a week where … nothing happens, making Ava doubt the
signals she thought she’d received. Had the kiss not been as mind-blowing for
him as it was for her? And then, suddenly, he asks her out on a date where she
gets to see the intimate, sexy sides of him, which she really likes.

Maybe
they are a good match for each other after all … or not. She can’t tell. His
actions are so unpredictable that she can’t intuit his motives. Should she
continue to leave the door open or write him off as the manwhore she thinks he
is?

“Thanks for dinner. I had a great
time,” I said. It was trite, but they were the only words that came to mind.

“Me, too. You’re welcome.” He stood
with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted, that knowing look in his
eyes. The same one that, at the office, had always driven me the nuts. But,
here in the semi-darkness and privacy of the corridor, it made me blush. There
was something in the intensity of his gaze that made my body prickle in
response. Did he know how many confusing signals were firing inside me right
now? One side of me was greatly tempted to run my hands through his silver-fox
hair, while another waved a red flag and tried to hit the brakes.

“Oh! Thanks for the coat,” I said. I’d
almost forgotten about it. I took it off and handed it to him. “Um, well
goodnight. See you at the office.”

I started to close the door, then
stopped because he continued to stand there with the side of his mouth quirked
up in a grin. It would be awkward to just shut the door in his face. “What?” I
said. Our gazes locked, and my heartbeat sped up as static filled the air
between us.

“You’re not just going to leave me like
this,” John said.

“Like what?”

He stepped forward to lean against the
doorframe, forearm up above his head, his face inches from mine. “Don’t I even
get a goodnight kiss?” he said in a low voice. “I hate to brag, but I think I
behaved pretty well tonight.”

I laughed. “Oh please, you love to
brag. And, yes, you totally surprised me with your unexpectedly chivalrous
behavior. This, however, is more along the lines of what I expected.” I
gestured at him from head to toe. It was as if a tiger stood at my doorstep,
powerful muscles lithe yet still ready to pounce. I had to admit, it was
deliciously arousing to feel his forthright desire. I had a brief flashback of
him by the pool on the cruise. I’d seen what the muscles of his torso were
like, and now I couldn’t help wondering what they would feel like through the
fabric of his shirt.

“So … no kiss?” he said. “Are you sure?
Because I thought there was something between us on the ship. And, even
tonight, I could swear it’s still there. Aren’t you just a little bit curious?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I am. I really, really am. But I wasn’t
about to tell him that. Giving a manwhore leverage was just plain dangerous.
“I’m just not sure we should go there right now.” I remained where I was,
refusing to budge. Kissing John would be the wrong move right now. Something in
my gut made me certain of it. It was just one of those instincts that grew more
honed with experience. Like a gazelle sensing a cheetah.

He continued to gaze at me with
interest. Then he straightened, but didn’t move back. “How about a handshake
then? That’s something you do with everyone, so it’s harmless, right?”

I laughed. “True.” I held out my hand
and he grasped it. I did my best to ignore how good his palm felt on mine. As
we shook, I said again, “John, I had a very nice time. Thank you.”

That’s all he would be getting from me
tonight. I stopped shaking his hand, but he didn’t release my fingers. Instead,
he raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, then skimmed his lips in
light nibbles down over my skin toward my wrist. The short stubble on his jaw
gently scraped as he went. And that, combined with the sensation of his firm,
soft lips, made my stomach curl with heat. It was so easy to imagine him
trailing kisses like that all the way along my arm to my breasts. Not just
there, but even lower to the most private part of me… His gaze flicked to my
face and whatever he saw there made his eyes light up with satisfaction. I
didn’t want to give anything away, but I was helpless to control whatever I was
revealing.

About the
Author:

Restless
by nature, Jewel Quinlan is an avid traveler and has visited sixteen countries
so far. Lover of ice cream, beer, and red wine she tries to stay fit when she’s
not typing madly on her computer concocting another tale. In her spare time,
she likes to do yoga, hike, learn German and play with her spoiled Chihuahua,
Penny.

23 September 2017

***As many Saturdays as possible, you'll see posts from people regarding their own experiences with their mental health. Use #BreaktheStigma on Twitter to share yours!***

Ten Tips to be a Great Mental Health Ally

As many as one in four Americans live with mental health issues. Some are short term issues, and some are chronic issues, lasting for years or for a lifetime. Knowing how to help a loved one who is struggling can save lives. While this list is just a beginning, here’s ten tips to be the best mental health ally you can be.Mental Health Is Physical Health: The first step is knowing mental health IS physical health. Mental health affects everything from energy levels to what sort of foods we can eat - and it’s every bit as real and impactful as any physical health issue. A mental health issue is every bit as serious as a physical health issue. Mental health has a measurable effect on the brain and body and is no different than diabetes, asthma, arthritis, or Crohn’s Disease.Treatments Vary: Treating a mental health issue varies, depending on the type of issue, duration, severity, and the underlying cause. Talk therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, and medication are the most common. Medication supplements the brain chemistry of a person with a mental health issue, so it more closely resembles what is present in a neurotypical (non mentally ill) person. Some people will only need medication short term (a year or so) and some will require it long term. Some mental health issues have more extensive treatments, like electroconvulsive therapy (a controlled seizure to correct brain chemistry). Everyone’s treatment will be different.Everyone Is Different: While this one seems obvious, it’s important to remember each person with a mental health issue is different. Their symptoms, ability, and which treatments work best for them will be different. Some people thrive in talk therapy, and others don’t. Some people benefit from medication, and others have too many side effects or cannot take medication. Every person’s treatment will be unique to them. Support them in finding what works for them. Ask How You Can Best Help Them: Since everyone’s needs are different, it’s important to ask them how you can best support them. Ask what they need, ask how they feel supported, and let them know you will help them. Everyone is different, and it’s important to ask what they need, and then meet their needs as best you can.Listen to What They Have to Say: One of the hardest parts of mental illness is how lonely it can feel. Being there for them and listening to how they feel, what treatments are working or not working for them, and even just day-to-day small talk helps combat the isolation which can wreak havoc on people with mental health issues. Depression, Anxiety, and PTSD can lead to long stretches of time in which someone is isolated, and having a friendly, supportive friend there can remind them that they are connected to something bigger than themselves.Make Sure They Know They’re Not Alone: If they are talking about something they feel, and you can relate, find a time to tell them. The timing on this one is key - don’t interrupt, and don’t make the conversation about you, but make sure they know what they think and feel is completely normal. Remember - mental health issues ARE normal - it’s why we have names, research, and treatments available for all of them. Everyone struggles sometimes, and it’s not a sign of weakness.Encourage Self-Care: Self-care is much more about basic routine and eating/showering schedules than pampering. Resting, talking, following a treatment plan, and meal planning can all be considered self-care. Remind them it’s ok to take breaks. This one is really important!Make Sure They Have a List of Contacts: This one seems basic, but it’s really important. Make sure they have their doctors, friends, and family in their phone’s contact list. Remembering phone numbers when you’re upset is almost impossible. Knowing exactly how to contact someone in a crisis saves lives.

Help Them Find Resources: It can be daunting to find a therapist or new doctor, to find a therapy group, or inpatient care. If you can help them by looking up doctors and ratings, or simply being there to support them while they do so, it can make a world of difference.Keep in Touch: This is the easiest and most effective way to help someone with a mental health issue - don’t lose contact with them. If you haven’t heard from them in a week (or however long would be unusual to not hear from them), reach out and say hi, ask how they’re doing. Talk with them, and listen. It’s very, very easy for someone to become isolated, and with all the wonders of modern technology, it’s very easy to reach out and remind them you’re still here, still love them, and are still their ally.

18 September 2017

Recently, the enigmatic and infamous THEY announced a new movie in the DCCU, and fan reaction has fallen pretty much on either side of the spectrum: OMGFINALLYWOW and OMGWTFWHY.

I am on the latter end of the spectrum. OMGWTFWHY?

Because there's a Harley/Joker love story in the works.

Please read that again. A Harley. And Joker. Love. Story.

If you know anything about the volatile relationship between these two, then you know why this is in the top ten of Things We Do Not Need.

If you don't, well....I can sum it up in three easy words: Joker abuses Harley.

Physically, verbally, psychologically, mentally. In pretty much every way possible. So much so that I wrote Harley fanfiction to help cope with my own abuse.

I think once someone has had that kind of "mad love" relationship, they view the world through a different lens. While some see the Harley-Joker relationship as something strange and romantic and whatever, others like myself see elements of that abusive relationship in every interaction.

Just after this, Joker lets Harley take the fall, like the uber romantic jagoff he is.

I have a lot of feelings about Leto's Joker, partly because of the theory that this Joker is my DC husband Jason Todd, and if true, that makes this Joker as much a victim as Harley.

However.

I have a lot of hatred for the actual Joker. Oh yeah, he's entertaining as hell, and my canon Joker is voiced by Mark Hamill, who is impossible to hate as a person. BUT. The character is a manipulative (and this maddening relationship is based on his manipulations), cruel, sadistic, narcissistic sociopath who scapegoats and gaslights Harley to no end.

Some background: I identify with Harley in so many ways. Like her, I studied psychology with an intent to become a criminal psychologist. Unlike her, I didn't follow through. Like her, I gravitate toward emotionally unavailable people and want to "fix" them. Like her, I wasted a lot of time in a terrible relationship that sucked away everything I was and almost killed every aspiration I had. I was mentally, emotionally, and verbally abused. I was gaslit and blamed for everything wrong in our relationship. Unlike her, I wasn't strong enough to walk away on my own.

With the releases of movies like Arrival, Hidden Figures, Atomic Blonde and Wonder Woman, and with more women-centric movies coming out in the next several years (still waiting for that freaking Black Widow movie), girls and women finally get to see themselves represented as more than lamps, sex objects, and damsels on the big screen. Hell, Harley's role in Suicide Squad was a win in its own way--Robbie plays her with this complex blend of sweetness, coyness, sass, confidence, vulnerability, fear, and cognizance that we don't see a lot outside the comics (and her runs in the comics are PHENOMENAL; do yourself a favor and check out Harley Quinn #25, by Amanda Conner, Jimmy Palmiotti, Chad Hardin, Alex Sinclair, and Tom Napolitano and her arc in the Injustice tie-in).

Needless to say, I am not thrilled about this little movie. I want to trust Margot Robbie's decision to sign on for it, just like I trusted her to bring Harley to life in the way the character deserves. What I don't trust is people who don't understand the nuance and complexity that Harley's writers have developed over the last couple decades. Yes, she's fun. She's weird and not all there (though it's an act and people who understand her know it is because it's a method of survival). She's sexy. She's also grown so much and the threat of not seeing that growth, some of which was exhibited in Suicide Squad, is galling.

As much as it pains me, I won't be seeing this one. I'll just wait for the Birds of Prey movie.

16 September 2017

***As many Saturdays as possible, you'll see posts from people regarding their own experiences with their mental health. Use #BreaktheStigma on Twitter to share yours!***

Trigger warning: this piece contains
mentions of living with anxiety and panic attacks. Please read only if you are
comfortable.

I’m in high school and I’ve turned
down an invitation to a party because of what could happen. Later, I wish I’d
gone.

I’m a young adult and I’ve talked
myself out of taking a risk because I don’t believe I can, because of all the
worst-case situations that could spring out of it.

I’m working my first job and breaking
under the stress of the position I’ve been put in and the lack of support. I
can't breathe in the bathroom at my job—but to me, this seems normal.

One of my best friends invites me to a
gathering at her house. I back out at the last minute because I’m overcome with
nerves at the thought of going and my nails are chewed almost to the quick.

My family is fighting; I’m crying and
can’t catch my breath, no matter how hard I try. This happens often when they
fight.

It takes until I’m almost 30 to begin
to connect the dots between all these events. It takes joining the YA community
on Twitter and listening to important conversations about mental illness. It
takes hearing the word “anxiety” and—for the first time—linking it to myself as
something other than a what-if.

Looking back on my life before I
realized that I have anxiety is like finally grasping the missing pieces in the
puzzle that I’ve long considered my behaviors, thoughts, and motivations. Even
as I told myself, “Everyone thinks this way,” or “Sudden changes in plans throw
everyone for a loop,” or “Everyone has worst-case scenarios for everything
playing on repeat in the back of their mind,” I knew I was trying to
rationalize something that never fit.

As I grew up, I didn’t realize that
all the things about myself I didn’t understand were anxiety-related—from
triggers to panic attacks to anxiety spirals—because no one around me ever
discussed mental illness. In the South, we don't talk about it. (We don’t talk
about mental health enough at all, but especially not in the South.) We might
dance around it, brush off, or only know about harmful stereotypes. But it’s
rare for people here to openly discuss mental health in order to break
stereotypes and diminish the stigmas around it and around getting help.

Thankfully, that’s changing slowly. At
times, it’s frustrating to no end to have to wonder who will take me seriously
when I talk about my anxiety or when the topic of medication or self-care comes
up. But I keep going. I keep talking about my anxiety without shame or
hesitation.

I always will.

For the most part, I’ve been lucky. I’ve
had family and friends sit and listen and offer their support. I’ve had a few
conversations where people meant well but still said unintentionally harmful
things. And I’ve had those discussions where I’ve encountered ableist and
hurtful language and stereotypes, and I’ve done my part to teach and counter
those with information and patience.

Now that I’ve begun to understand
myself and my mental health better, I want to help others. I want to reach a
hand back for anyone who hasn’t put together the puzzle pieces of themselves,
and let them know that I’m here to support and uplift them. To break the
stigmas together until mental health is something we all talk about (if we’re
able to) and normalize those discussions.

About the author

Molli Moran was born and raised in the middle
of nowhere, Tennessee, and brings a love of all things small-town to her romances. She grew up with her nose in a book and her head
in the clouds, and not much has changed since then. Molli found her own
happily-ever-after on the West Coast. Give her Kay and coffee, and you’ve never
seen a happier person. Other things she loves include road trips, the ocean,
and Captain America. She’s a personal shopper during the day and a romance
writer at night, and firmly believes that all books should have a happy ending.
Molli writes about girls who are chasing down their own HEA.

You can find Molli on Twitter, where she spends
way too much time (@MissMolliWrites). She loves hearing from readers, so don’t
be shy! She’s not throwing away her shot.